Bays slung the rifle on his back, and pulled his gloves over his stubby fingers. Outside, the hill-slanted street was covered in mist that glittered with the pale yellow glow of street lights. He jogged down the zig-zagging apartment stairs, hating the chilled air, and puffing breath clouds. The rifle he concealed in a tattered green blanket, and nimbly secured it to the side of his hover-bike. The seat was frosty, sending his balls into a crawling retreat. His helmet (which he kept in a locked box hanging off the side of his back wheel) chilled his bare ears, making him shudder with shivers and jolting him fully awake.
The bike roared to life, its engine spinning and glowing in neon blue, visible through the plastic rib-plates. The exhaust vents flared and puffed. He flicked off the landing bumpers, and it lifted itself, swaying and shuddering slightly. By shifting his left foot on the rudder controls, it began circling to face the road. The traffic lights were blinking yellow, and the squat apartment complexes across the street looked dim and dreary, aside from a few windows flickering with TV light. He could not see the moon or stars, which meant the jungle would be extra dangerous. The bike left the parking lot at a slow crawl. The curfewwas in effect, and speeding through just one traffic box would trigger the lazer sensors to emit a deafening alarm, thus alerting the patrolling troops. So he went slowly at first, constantly checking his surroundings for signs of the Enforcer Crafts (the large, bumbling troop carriers that patrolled the streets at night), and promptly turning down a side street if he saw them coming.
Eventually he made it to the city wall, jetting south along the drainage ditch until he came to the abandoned warehouse where a back wall had fallen, coming to lean against the city wall. He revved his bike up the slanting brick wall, as he had done so many times before, and with a practiced manouvering was able to lift his bike up and over the wall, and into the blackness of the forest.
He dare not turn on his main lights this close to the city, and so the first few miles of his journey had to be done using only his parking breaks, to reduce the chance of being seen. Then, when he was far enough into the twisted tangles of vegiation and wild-life, he turned on his high-beams, and sped full throttle over the bush and grass covered highways, still spotted with the ghostly remains of rusting cars and trucks, with trees beginning to crack through its tan surface. When he got to the rendevous point, an empty parking lot in front of an abandoned office building, seemingly cut off from the rest of the world and surrounded only by the over grown jungle, he found he was alone, and spent the entire night alone, falling asleep next to his still running bike to stay warm.
He woke, confused, and wincing at the sunlight. He had never been here during the day. He turned off his bike to conserve its energy, and looked for any sign that his contact had been there during the night. There was none. The building looked less menacing during the day, a three story glass and concrete relic, torn apart by the invading branches and vines. He did not know where the jungle people lived, but he knew it could not be this building. But he was indebted to meet and serve his contact. He would check inside the building, breifly, just to be sure. He started for the building, then debated the element of danger. The jungle-dwellers have never acted erratic before. Was there reason to fear them? Had they been hunted by the Enforcers? And of course, there were tigers. He returned to his bike, taking the keys, the detachable light, and the rifle, still rolled in the green blanket. Did the jungle-dwellers know he always brought it with him when he came to meet them? He mounted the steps of the building, his boots crunching over broken glass and dried vines and leaves.
4-28-08 xwestx TO BE CONTINUED
